


Anima

by kethni



Category: Veep
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Making Up, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent does have friends. Good ones. He has a handful whom he has known since college, all of them women. He has never, for a single moment, consciously noticed this fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anima

**Author's Note:**

> For Charlesdances, hope you enjoy it!
> 
> ~~~
> 
> I got a little distracted and led astray by the interesting discussions about Kent's relationships with female characters.

 

Kent Edward Davison is fifty-eight years old, although from time to time it slips his mind. Each time it does, he is faintly surprised to be reminded that he is no longer thirty-five. He is never upset or distressed by this fact, only a little taken aback. He doesn’t regret his age. He is in much better shape at fifty-eight than he was at thirty-five: physically, professionally, and emotionally.

So he believes.

It is certainly true that he is fitter now. He runs, swims, takes Pilates, and yoga. His regular physical has had no unpleasant revelations for some years. It is also true that as Senior Presidential Advisor he has reached his professional peak. Some people might use such a position as a springboard for their own political ambitions. Not Kent. The idea is more appalling than appealing. Kent is not a man who wishes to attract the attention of the general populace. Possibly this is because he has no illusions of popularity.

This is not to say that he is bitter. Bitterness has never seemed like a useful response to anything. Kent has never mastered the art of harbouring ill will. An ability to move past personal slights and setbacks without resentment or hostility is one of his more agreeable traits. Unfortunately, this means that he sometimes fails to foresee it in others. He is, from time to time, mildly baffled at colleagues and acquaintances acting out about some event days, months, or years ago.

It is reasonable to say that Kent quite often finds himself at a loss to understand the leaps of logic and emotional contortions that he witnesses in those around him. When he was a boy, it disoriented him. Like being at a symphony and only hearing half the notes, or looking at painting and seeing only black and white. But it’s never made him angry. Not then. Not now. When he was a boy, it saddened him. Now he patiently assembles all the other available data and tries to extrapolate the missing notes, the colours that he can’t see.

For instance, he knows he’s not well liked. He’s aware that logically there must be something about his manner, personality, or behaviour, which makes him unlikeable. Since he is the only common denominator in all of his strained relationships, the basic failure must lie with him. The conclusion is unpleasant but undeniable.

Kent isn’t desperate for validation. He doesn’t long for affection to fill some void in his life. He doesn’t want pity and, if it were offered, he probably wouldn’t understand why. But he would like to comprehend the issue. If he can identify where he is going off course then perhaps he can correct his trajectory. Unfortunately, his attempts to gather more data have not been fruitful.

When, many years ago, he asked his mother why he wasn’t likeable, she started crying. He hadn’t intended it as an accusation. One of Kent’s earliest memories is of his mom cuddling him on her knee, and saying if she hugged her children as tightly as she wanted to, then she would crush them. Love, young Kent was given to understand, was a frightening, violent force as likely to destroy as to protect.

Alas, his friends have not been much more helpful. He does  _have_  friends. Good ones. He has a handful whom he has known since college, all of them women. He has never, for a single moment, consciously noticed this fact. Josephina is the least close of his friends but, somewhat perversely, the most honest.

‘You’re weird,’ she said, when he asked her. ‘Regular people get nervous about weirdos.’

‘How am I weird?’

‘Oh, you know. You have all your emotions in little boxes. You’re always so freaking analytical.’

He set his shoulders. ‘Right.’

Josephina shook her head. ‘See? I hurt your feelings but you shove it off into a box. Maybe people who don’t get you, assholes, figure that one day you’re going to explode.’

 

Kent doesn’t do explosions. On occasion, he becomes... irritated, but he can only remember losing his temper once.

He never cries.

His sisters don’t cry. His mother never cries these days. His father… He can only remember his father crying once, when on a road trip their car had hit a doe. Kent had been eleven. Old enough to get out of the car with his father while the ladies remained behind. Even so, he hung back a little as his father approached the young doe. She was lay on the road, a few feet from the car. A sleek, tawny shape with tapering, twitching legs.

She was breathing. Her side rising and falling. Kent saw her ear twitch. He edged forward. The family didn’t keep pets. He’d never been to a zoo. This was the closest he’d ever been to a wild animal. Kent’s father didn’t tell him to be gentle. He knew he didn’t have to. Kent came a little closer to the doe, close enough to catch her warm slightly musky scent. As Kent knelt to touch her soft, downy fur, the doe raised her head and looked at him with liquid, dark eyes. He didn’t look away as he laid his small, shaking hand on her flank. She snorted a breath. It rose in the brisk air like steam.

Then, in a burst of noise and movement, the doe scrambled up and bolted away into the trees, knocking Kent back onto the ground. He looked up. Saw his father staring into the trees, tears pouring down his face and the breath gasping from his lungs.

When his mother cried Kent knew to give her a tissue, a little hug, and then leave her alone. He had no idea what to do with his father. He didn’t have a tissue. A hug was unthinkable. So he got to his feet and wiped the dust from his pants.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Dad?’

‘Sorry.’ His father didn’t talk much. Now his voice sounded strange in some way Kent couldn't identify. ‘Let’s get back in the car.’

Kent had never before heard his father apologise. They trailed back to the car without saying anything else. While Kent’s sisters whispered and conducted their private sisterly war, he looked out of the window and watched for deer.

 

When he asked his other friends, they either gave him platitudes about how no one was universally liked or denied that he had a problem. It was mildly annoying that they apparently thought him incapable of accepting whatever truth was to be had. Kitty, his closest friend, gave him the old excuses about his being someone who needed time to open up.

‘It takes people a while to know you,’ she said.

‘Then people would simply feel neutral towards me. They don’t.’

‘Oh honey, you know that’s not how it works.’ She brushed warm blonde hair from her eyes. ‘Look you’re a… private person, reserved maybe and in control of yourself. Some people get jealous is all.’

‘Nobody is jealous of me, Kitty.’

 

Kent had arranged his new office with considerable care. He ensured that he had no eye line out of the office unless he was literally standing before an open door. He was, therefore, at no risk of accidentally meeting Sue’s eyes. When President Hughes had asked him to return to the White House, the office he had managed to secure for himself had been distinctly suboptimal. That was the problem with joining an administration partway through the term. Being on the ground floor of the Meyer administration – however long that lasted – gave him the opportunity to stake claim to a much better location. Even if that means having to walk past Sue several times a day.  

He’s constantly surprised that she’s still so angry. As we have already stated, bitterness is not an emotion that Kent entertains. He is, however, confused, adrift, and hurting.

 

It was simpler when his affections were unrequited. Kent’s in no way a man given to sensual pleasures but certain women have captured his interest. He never dates for pleasure or as recreation. He’s unable to stir up any desire for women he doesn’t know and like, no matter how aesthetically pleasing their features, charming their manners, or flattering their dress. During college, he had shared a house with Josephina, Kitty, Molly, Sebastian, and Angelique. By the time he graduated, he was valiantly attempting to hide his affections for Kitty. He was still pretending ten years later, but had developed a certain appreciation for the gentle ache of it.

‘When’re you getting a girlfriend?’ Kitty asked.

They were watching Josephina’s new play. It was dreadful. Half the audience had left at intermission.

‘Hmm?’ He’d heard what she said. Whatever other flaws he had as an admirer, he never failed to pay full attention.

‘You. Girlfriend. When?’

‘Too busy.’

Behind them, some relative of Josephina’s cleared her throat meaningfully.

Kitty pressed her lips to Kent’s ear, making him tense up. When she spoke, whispered really, he felt her breath against his skin. ‘I’ve got time for two girlfriends. You’ve got time for one.’

‘And you’re cheating on both of them.’

‘You’re so terribly stern. If I was a straight girl…’

‘We’d still be having this conversation,’ Kent said.  

‘You’re right,’ Kitty says. ‘You wouldn’t be interested in me if I was available.’

‘I meant that you wouldn’t be attracted to me,’ he says.

‘I’m right,’ she says, ‘you’re wrong.’

 

After the play had its final death rattle, they sat in a diner eating rubbery burgers and greasy fries.

‘You’re not still…’ Kitty trailed off. ‘You know.’

He didn’t know, but he had an unpleasant idea. ‘I have no desire to discuss anything that requires a euphemism.’

Kitty reached forward to brush a smear of ketchup from his lip. He froze at her touch. Neither of them mentioned it, even as she cleaned up.

‘You’re far too good looking to be single,’ she said, wagging a finger at him.

‘How would you know?’

‘I have eyes,’ she said, narrowing them at him. ‘I see what the media trumpets as desirable. You know if another man is attractive.’

Kent shrugged. ‘I don’t think about it.’

Kitty looked at him from under her lashes. ‘Are you  _sure_?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some people struggle with their sexuality for years. But if you were gay, honey, you know you could tell me.’

Kent sighed. ‘But I’m not.’

Kitty stole one of his fries. ‘You are dating though. Not a girlfriend, just getting out and meeting people.’

‘I have no time for dating.’

‘I’m not dignifying that.’ Kitty regarded him thoughtfully. ‘When was the last time you got laid?’

‘I don’t know. Can we talk about something else?’

She didn’t normally push him quite so far. It put him off balance or he would never have answered so thoughtlessly.

Kitty stared at him. ‘Oh honey! But since college?’

Kent cringed as she moved over to his seat and suddenly enveloped him. The smell of her perfume was almost as intoxicating as the warmth of her skin.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ she asked. ‘Here I’ve been going on and on.’

‘Kit, it’s not a big deal,’ he said, his voice muffled by her breasts.

He would’ve preferred it if she’d changed the subject or even made it a joke. Much preferred it. But neither was in her character. Catriona Wolffe was not built to laugh at what she imagined to be someone else’s loneliness and pain. Least of all if she thought of that person as being like a brother.

‘What’re you afraid of?’ she asked quietly.

Kent extricated himself as politely as he could. ‘I fail to see why you assume I must be afraid.’

Kitty drew her feet up to the seat. ‘Kent, come on. I see the way you look at me. You didn’t want me to say anything so… Should I have?’

‘No.’

She touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. He forced himself not to pull away. ‘One day your mom isn’t going to be around,’ she said. ‘Then who’re you going to look after?’

‘Look after?’

‘Sure. Hey, don’t give me that look. I’ve known you a long time.’

 

Kent hadn’t looked after Sue. That had been her choice not his. If questioned, Kent would admit that the choices were mostly hers. No, admit was the wrong word. He wasn’t ashamed of it. The thought would never cross his mind. At the age of fifty-eight, he believes he is reasonably aware of his own needs and desires. He wouldn’t word it more strongly, not because he’s uncertain, but because Kent doesn’t live in a world of absolutes. Precision and accuracy are better served by the flexibility of shades of meaning, juxtaposition, and contextualisation.

He wanted to look after Sue. Past tense. Obviously past tense. Sue was, to say the least, resistant to even the mildest protective or nurturing impulse. That was absolutely her choice. He had no argument with it being her prerogative. Every relationship had compromises. A relationship without compromise was a dictatorship. If the price of admission to a relationship with her was doing nothing for her: no little gifts, no offering help, no chatting about her day, and absolutely no non-sexual touching, then he had told himself he was willing to pay it. He had kept telling himself that.

 

It has been claimed that the “average” person, that old mythical creature, needs simple tactile contact with another human seven times a day. Failure to do can lead to depression, along with whole plethora of other issues.

Kent would not be entirely surprised to learn this. Haphephobia has been a problem for him for more reasons than spelling. It’s taken him years to gradually reduce his own case from panicked nausea to a very mild discomfort.

Nadia had helped with that. She was as quiet and thoughtful as Kitty and Josephina were overpowering. Kitty’s attempt to help him “get over” his touch aversion had been to pat his on the back, squeeze his arm, and touch him anywhere else that presented itself, as much and as often as possible. In fact, this was not entirely without scientific merit which, as a psych major, she knew. Being Kitty, though, it didn’t occur to her that he might not  _want_  her help, or that his feelings for her would actually make her “help” excruciating. Josephina’s approach was characteristic in that it was both more straightforward and based on nothing more than a wild guess. She took to walking around the house in a state of undress. The better, she said, to help him “desexualise the female body.”

‘It’s making me desexualise the female body,’ Kitty complained, ‘and I’m gay.’

Nadia was a tiny West Indian girl with wide, dark eyes, a ready smile, and a gentle manner. One night, wearing a Beatles t-shirt, a pair of her ex-boyfriend’s boxers, and a nervous expression, she crept down to Kent's room in the basement. She’d woken him from a heavy sleep and he blinked at her in blank confusion. But he hadn’t protested as she slipped past him and into his bed.

She told him not to worry about her, that the important thing to her was that he felt comfortable. That was true, at least when she said it, if not when he ignored it and kissed her  _there_. She just managed to murmur that she was going to touch him but that she’d stop if he wanted. That was also true.

She told him that it was like therapy, that was all, just one friend helping another. That was a lie. She told him to keep it between themselves. The others wouldn’t understand. That was another lie. The other girls would’ve understood the situation far better than Kent did.

 

Kent is well aware that he is not the most socially adept. He’s aware that he has embarrassed former partners, from time to time, although never on purpose. Sue had been different in that respect. She hadn’t been  _proud_  to have him at her side, but she’d never been ashamed.

‘You’re always well-dressed,’ Sue had said, when he came to pick her up for their first date, to a wine tasting that Amy had reluctantly suggested.

What he meant to say was,  _thank you, I’ve often admire your ensemble and, since we only have to co-ordinate shirts, ties, and shoes, it’s easier for men. It’s so much more complicated for women and you do an excellent job._

What he actually said was, ‘it’s easier for men.’

In Kent’s defence, compliments are rare enough for him to have no idea what to say. So he generally says something that was never intended to sound dismissive, rude, or condescending, and yet almost always does.

 

Contrary to what you might think, he actually puts a considerable amount of thought into what he’s going to say to Catherine. Simply stating the facts is, in his way, a mark of respect. She’s an intelligent young woman who is surviving her parentage with more grace than he would. Better, surely, to establish the unpleasant truth, and move on than to prevaricate mired in confusion and uncertainty. He feels justified in this approach since, once the initial shock has worn off, she turns her mind quickly to correcting the problem.

Kent has a certain sympathy for the issue of being disliked which is, as previously noted, quite familiar to him. He respects Catherine, more than he suspects her mother does, but he can’t quite bring himself to like her. No oomph. No ambition. Yet she has a sea of entitlement.

‘I want to work with a charity,’ Catherine says, wandering into his office as he’s talking with Leigh.

‘I volunteer,’ Leigh says in her oddly modular way of speaking. ‘It’s very rewarding.’

‘What for?’ Kent asks.

‘Oh God, I don’t want to  _volunteer_ ,’ Catherine says quickly. ‘I can be like a patron for a charity. Right? It’ll make me look more likeable.’

‘We’re currently trying to raise money to protect the pygmy hog-sucking louse,’ Leigh says. ‘It’s critically endangered.’

‘A  _louse_?’ Catherine asks.

‘Cute animals get all the funding,’ Leigh says. ‘It’s depressing indictment of our societal obsession with aesthetics.’

When he was a young staffer, Kent had done a little volunteering with a charity for homeless teenagers but he hadn’t had the time in years. Kent respects Catherine for dealing with her parents. He respects Leigh for her intelligence and her competence. He  _likes_  her for her ambition, her passion, and her clarity of thought. He nurses a fond hope to one day see her achieve political office.

 

He had respected Sue from reputation before he met her. Roger Furlong’s loud and angry denunciation had only served to pique his interest. In theory, D.C. is full of highly intelligent people. Kent has personal reservations on the matter. In theory, Dan Egan, Selina Meyer, and Ben Cafferty are all highly intelligent. Competence is a different matter. He sees little enough evidence of that. Sue had been advertised as exceptionally competent and he hasn't been disappointed. He’s heard her described as cold, stuck-up, and a bitch. In Kent’s experience, all three descriptors speak only about the frustrated sense of entitlement and emotional immaturity of the man speaking.

It may not surprise you to learn that Kent is not an introspective man. If he had ever thought about it, he would have said that introspection was a series of questions with no answers. But of course, he doesn’t think about it. He’s uninterested in philosophical issues or debate for its own sake and he doesn’t much keep up to date on the shifting tides of gender politics. It wouldn’t occur to him to call himself a feminist because he has no idea that the concept of a male feminist is acceptable. His thoughts on gender politics were largely formed when he was a teenager, at the height of second wave feminism, and crystallised at college. But he is always willing to learn, to recalibrate.

 

‘Thank you. I needed to clear my mind of D.C. for a while,’ Kent says, buttoning up his shirt.

‘Bad week?’ Nadia pulls the duvet up to her chin as she sits back against the headboard. If asked, she would admit it was a ridiculous thing to do. But after being with Kent, she always wants… Well. She always wants a cuddle. She’s sure he’d do it if she asked. He’d be a little awkward and a little uncomfortable, but he’d do it. She doesn’t ask though and it never occurs to him to suggest it.

‘Even by our standards the last few days have been unfortunate.’ Kent looks at her. It always takes him aback how small and slight she is. He never thinks of her that way. ‘I don’t wish to bore you.’

‘Post-coital patronisation, very sexy.’ Nadia has known him long enough to say it as dispassionately as he’ll take it.

‘Ah,’ he says, looking at her uncertainly. ‘Apologies.’ He reaches out to brush a lick of hair behind her ear. He doesn’t notice that she leans in to his touch. ‘I’m told that having your hair relaxed is enormously painful.’

‘Yep.’

‘Sue told me so,’ he says, although she hadn’t asked.

He catches the sound of her small sigh but not the meaning. It isn’t the first time. He’s noticed that Nadia is often a little melancholy after they’ve been together and he’s never quite found the right response. Even after so long, feminine unhappiness can still trigger primal feelings of panic and guilt.

Nadia gently pushes his hand away. ‘You seemed a pretty good match.’

‘I thought we were.’ Kent turns his attention to his cuffs.

‘You’re an idiot.’

‘What?’

‘You’re still hung up on her but instead of doing something about it you’re just moping around and feeling sorry for yourself.’ Nadia puts her small hand over his much larger one. ‘That isn’t going to get her back or make you feel better.’

Kent strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. Her hands are nothing like Sue’s which are long and slim but strong.

‘Sue isn’t the sort of woman to change her mind,’ he says.

‘Oh, well, if something is difficult then it can’t be worth bothering with.’

He gives her a look. Staffers have been known to quail at that expression. ‘She’s not interested in resuming a relationship with me. I have to respect that.’ 

Nadia shakes her head. She was there the one time he lost his temper. A mere glower doesn’t compare. ‘Don’t make excuses. What’re you doing coming here when you’re in love with her?’

‘I…You’re overstating the issue.’

Nadia kicks him gently. ‘Don’t think so.’

 

She might be surprised to know it, but Kent has a great deal of respect for Nadia. Enough, certainly, to make him wonder if perhaps he has been too quick to assume that all with Sue is lost.

He knows that his presence annoys Sue. Some perverse part of him is rather pleased. Not sadistically, but because it means he still matters to her, even if it’s just a tiny bit. It’s oddly encouraging when she pokes at him. He even gives her a little ammunition sometimes, calling Bill socially inept, and a robot, knowing she won’t be able to resist sniping at him. He certainly doesn’t want her to hate him, but indifference would be unbearable.

 

Kent doesn’t know quite what makes him pause in the midst of collating his data. A sound, perhaps, or a breath of familiar scent. Whatever it is, he stops, and he looks up. Sue is stood in the doorway to his office. She’s holding out her tablet between her palms, like a shield between them.

He pushes his keyboard aside and clasps his hands together. Waiting. Sue regards him for a moment before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her.

‘Bill Ericsson is telling people that he saw Amy shove you up against a wall,’ she says.

‘How heroic of him to stand by and then gossip about it.’

Sue takes two steps forward, stopping in front of his desk. ‘Why did you allow her to do that?’

Kent sits back. He hates moments like this. The fragility of the situation demands a delicacy of touch that he knows he simply doesn’t possess.

‘Stopping her would have required the use of physical force,’ Kent says.

‘That would be self-defence.’

Kent blinks at her. ‘I believe self-defence requires a genuine fear of harm.’

Sue taps her foot. ‘You shouldn’t allow yourself to be humiliated. It makes me look bad. People know we dated.’ She turns and marches to the door.

‘I’ll make a note of that for the future.’

Sue has her hand on the doorknob as she turns around. ‘Amy assaulted you. The use of mild physical force to restrain her would’ve been justified.’

‘I disagree,’ he says. He feels a paroxysm of disgust at the idea. It’s not a reasoned response. He knows that it’s instinctive, almost feral in its immediacy.

She tilts her head as she looks at him. When she speaks, her voice is a little quieter. A little… not warmer. That would be inaccurate. A little less cold.

‘Allowing Amy to bully you does you both a disservice,’ she says. ‘I know you have more self-respect than that.’

‘It was necessary for her to vent. You are, of course, familiar with the concept,’ Kent says. ‘Nonetheless, I’m touched by your concern.’

For a moment, he thinks that she’s going to say something else. That the walls are beginning to crumble. But she nods, and opens the door.

‘Good.’

 

Amy is, in her own clenched and unbending way, embarrassed. Kent is quite familiar with the symptoms. He makes no effort to discuss the issue with her. He has no desire to be thrown up against another wall. More to the point, although he wouldn’t consider in it such terms, he doesn’t want to pile fuel on the fire of her burnout.

In a long and varied career, Kent has seen it before. He’s heard all the theories about the kind of person who burns out. Complete nonsense. A fairy story told by staffers and senators alike to convince themselves that they will never be at risk. He’s seen it happen. He’s come close to it. He hasn’t an iota of an idea how to aid someone else with it.

Before leaving for the evening, Kent has a quick, almost perfunctory, drink with Ben. As little as they like each other on a personal level, they can put their differences aside over a drink and discuss how much they thoroughly revile Karen Collins and Bill Ericsson.

Kent has just returned home, taken off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, when someone bangs at his door. This is a concern. He isn’t expecting anyone and Sue would announce herself. And she’d already be ordering him to open the door.

Amy holds up a bottle of scotch. ‘Don’t make me fucking say it.’

Kent holds the door open as he steps aside to let her in. Amy slumps down onto his sofa as he fetches the tumblers. It doesn’t occur to Kent to wonder if this visit presages something more than mending fences. There is, of course, still chemistry between himself and Sue. If pressed, he might even admit some lingering tension between himself and Selina. Vitriolic and doubtless destructive as that would be.

But not with Amy. He likes her well enough and she’s attractive, on a purely visual level, if a little over-endowed aurally. Aesthetics aren’t the issue. Amy is too tense, too clenched, to appeal to him. She’s always given Kent the impression that at she may, at any moment, start screaming and not stop.

In short, she reminds him too much of his mother.

Happily, for the purposes of smooth inter-personal office relations, Amy entirely returns his absolute lack of romantic or sexual interest. Kent has observed that some men take such a lack of personal interest as a slight. He’s never understood why. He knows that a cocktail of genetics, experience, and cultural norms determine what any person finds attractive. If a woman does or doesn’t find him attractive, it’s more a reflection of her than of him. Oh, dress and manners add a gloss or scratch off the shine, but little more.

Kent puts the tumblers on the coffee table and pours two measures of scotch, hers a little more generous than his.

‘Christ, I need this,’ she says.

Kent sits down on the armchair, not the sofa. He has no illusions that lack of attraction is a defence against alcohol-inspired ardour.

‘Have you met Karen before?’ he asks.

‘No. Fuck no. where does Selina find these... these scum sucking patronising assholes?’ Amy voice twists into parody. ‘My speciality is common sense! If it’s that common who needs a specialist?’

She drains her whiskey. Kent pours her another and sips his own.

‘As irritating as she is, I am sometimes amused by her idiocy,’ he says, his hand circling as if he’s trying to sculpt the words. ‘Then I wonder if I’m mocking something akin to a disability.’

Amy snorts. ‘There’s no possible evolutionary reason for stupid people to exist apart from giving the rest of us someone to laugh at. That and stimulating the economy by buying fucking E. L. James novels.’

It takes him a moment to place the name and then he wishes that he hadn’t. Sue had been given the first book and, finding his disgust far more entertaining than the prose, had taken to reading out random selections.

‘Anyway, what makes you think Karen’s stupid?’ Amy asks. ‘She just squawks. I haven’t heard her say enough of substance to convince me she speaks fucking English.’

Kent takes out his cufflinks and folds back his sleeves. ‘My impression is that she does so since she rarely understands the issue at hand.’

Amy shakes her head. ‘I’ve got ten dollars says she’s just a yes woman.’ She gulps down scotch. ‘Ray. Now there was a body in search of a brain. I wanted to look in his ear and check for fucking daylight.’

Kent smiles slightly. ‘The straw man had nothing on Ray. It took him a considerable while to grasp the concept of my firing him.’

Amy snickers. ‘Fuck knows why Selina put up with him.’

‘Sex.’ The word comes at a little louder and a little stronger than Kent intends and he feels a little warmth touch his cheeks. ‘She’s a dynamic woman. She has… needs.’

The pure revulsion on Amy’s face gives Kent an uncommon spasm of sympathy towards her boyfriend.

‘She’s not a bonobo chimp!’

‘If she was then she’d be all over all of us.’ It’s the scotch making him a little playful, a little mean. Whatever state that leads him to say such a thing when Amy has a mouthful of scotch.

She chokes it down. The coils of her body are relaxing a little, as if enough alcohol will allow her to wind down to something approaching a normal, human stress level.

‘Thanks for the fucking nightmares, Kent.’ She swirls a little scotch around her glass. ‘Wasn’t there some lady senator thirty, forty years ago, treated her whole staff like a fucking harem? Said that fucking her staff was the best way to know what they were capable of.’ Amy shakes her head. ‘Probably bullshit made up to embarrass her.’

Kent pours himself some more scotch. ‘Senator Trulio,’ he says. ‘The story about her… expressing physical affection with staffers was true.’

‘How the fuck do you know that?’

Kent shrugs. ‘I worked for her right out of college.’

It takes Amy a moment to process this. ‘You worked for her? And she was fucking her staffers?’

‘I can’t speak to how many.’ He waits. Amy is oddly fascinating in her almost infantile loyalty to authority figures and refusal to accept that her loyalty is almost always unrequited.

Amy looks at him over the rim of her glass. ‘Jesus Christ, Kent, you pick the weirdest time to start shitting me.’

Kent stands, puts his glass down for a moment, and crosses over to the bookshelf. He comes back with a photo album. He flips through, opens a page, and shows it to her.

‘That’s Trulio in the middle.’

Amy squints at the gently faded photograph. He hardly needed to specify, there is only one woman in the picture – a tall, classically attractive fortyish woman with dark hair and hard eyes. All the other subjects are handsome young men, although that’s hard to tell, since they’re all labouring under seventies hair.

‘What is this, the Stepford Staffers? Is one of these even you?’

Kent rolls his eyes and points. It’s true that when he was young he dressed and groomed very differently than he does now. But it’s equally true that all staffers now tend to dress alike. Give a person a uniform and they will strive to assert their individuality in whatever tiny ways are available to them. Allow them an apparent free hand and watch as they all gravitate to the same styles, cuts, and colours.

‘This is you?’ Amy says. ‘You look about fifteen. The rest of them look about twelve.’

‘We were all young,’ he agrees. ‘Although I was a little older than the others.’

In the photograph, he’s sat next to Trulio although he’s leaning away from her. Amy isn’t looking close enough to notice Trulio’s hand on his thigh, let alone the slight strain on his face. She might not recognise if she did. Sue did, when she saw this photograph and the others like it.

‘Well that’s fucking creepy,’ Amy says. ‘Why would you work for someone like that?’

He’s been asked before. He only has one answer and that never seems to satisfy.

‘She needed me.’

‘What, in bed?’ Amy shudders luxuriously. ‘Your hair was not nearly tragic enough that you couldn’t get laid some other way.’

He knows she won’t understand. Even sober she wouldn’t accept it. It would strike too close to home.

‘It wasn’t that,’ he says. ‘Isabella was extremely demanding and frequently unreasonable.’ Kent runs his fingers through his hair. ‘However, I was used to that. She was incredibly intelligent, ambitious, and charismatic. When she was happy, she was gracious, kindly, and generous. She taught me a huge amount about politics.’

Amy runs her thumb around the top of the glass. She is feeling a little nostalgia slip in amid the anger, disappointment, and derision she feels brewing.

‘When I first start working for Selina,’ she says, ‘it was hard, but the rewards… Shit, working to get the first female president! God, that was huge.’ She shakes her head. ‘It was going to be legacy stuff. We were going to change the world.’ Amy drains her glass. ‘But the world somehow got smaller and fucking smaller. We’re supposed to be setting the agenda for the next generation of women and she’s obsessing about petty shit. She got rid of Dan and replaced him with fucking  _Karen_.’

‘Sure. Because this is the beginning of the end for her. Her concern is with clinging on to what she’s got, not grabbing anything new.’ Kent puts the album away and then sits back down. ‘Whether that end comes with a defeat in the election, in four years’ time, or in eight years’ time, it’s going to end, Amy. She won’t go back to being a senator. Her political career peaked when she became president.’

‘Yes but... but...’ Amy has grown pale, unable to order her thoughts. ‘She can’t just stop. She’s too young… She has to…’

Kent wants to lie down and listen to some music, something low and mellow but he can’t. Not yet.

‘Selina doesn’t have to do anything. One way or another her political career is winding down. Four years I worked for Isabella. That was ample. I was loyal but I had my own ambitions. Be sure when Selina’s career is buried I won’t be jumping onto the coffin.’

Amy pushes away her glass. ‘Where’s Dan when you need to fuck him?’

‘God forbid I never need to do that to him.’

‘I said fucking need him,’ she say unconvincingly.

‘Sure.’

After Amy has gone, it occurs to him, in a fuzzy sort of way, that Isabella must be rather elderly now. Probably quite frail as she languishes in whatever home her daughters have banished her. He doesn’t blame them. Isabella was an unforgiving tyrant. She demanded excellence from everyone and made no allowances, even for her children. But she was also inspiring, tender, and strong. Complex. Now she’s reduced to a story that chauvinists snigger about to scare young staffers. The woman is forgotten while her mind and body disintegrate. It makes him strangely melancholic.

 

On the second morning of the convention, Sue sits next to him at breakfast. He lets her have the melon that he’s hoarded and she almost, nearly, smiles at him. Then Amy, bleary and more tightly wound than ever, blunders in and asks about Simon.

Kent, who enjoys the company of women, and seeks it frequently, does not often date and is quite judicious when it comes to relationships. Sue, who has no male friends and a deeply jaundiced view of the masculine sex, has never in her adult life been single for more than two weeks. They both have certain theories about the other’s state of affairs.

Simon is the undeserving recipient of Sue’s attention. This is, you understand, her opinion. Kent doesn’t know enough about him to form a judgement. Sue had hoped to make something out of Simon but she has come to the conclusion that he is a lost cause. Sue quite commonly is attracted to men she thinks can be made into something and she is generally disappointed. Kent was a considerable deviation from her usual taste and the only man she can remember who did not disappoint her. Challenge her, yes. Aggravate and irritate her into a frenzy, certainly. But he never disappointed her.

‘Simon is fine,’ Sue says to Amy.

Kent spends too much time analysing her tone. Is there a touch of coolness? He knows she’s fond of Amy although you’d never know it from the way she speaks. Sue is not a woman given to emotional displays. It was one of the things that initially interested him in her. Not that he considered her cold. He’s always found supposed ‘coldness’ to be something more akin to either shyness or a simple reticence to share private emotions. His relationship with Sue has done nothing whatsoever to alter this observation.

 

Kent has been fighting a headache for hours. The day had been stressful enough without Amy’s painfully public meltdown.

‘You wanna do a coin toss or stone, paper, scissors?’ Ben asks, nodding over at Karen.

Kent shakes his head. ‘All yours.’

‘You sure? We could do it together.’ Ben’s clearly feeling magnanimous, although Kent isn’t sure if that’s because of the champagne or the anticipated pleasure of firing Karen.

‘I fired Jonah and Ray,’ Kent says. ‘You’ve got this one coming.’

What he doesn’t say is that Selina has a habit of changing her mind. Not only did she take back Dan, but she swallowed her animosity to accept Kent into her team. He believes that she’ll probably take Amy back, if the timing is right. Karen’s too stupid to be pragmatic. Kent can well believe that if she returns in the future she’s may attempt some petty revenge.

‘Well, thanks,’ Ben says. ‘I’ve gotta admit I’ve been planning it out in my head. What I’d say. I’ve got it narrowed down to three or four options.’

‘Planning for how long?’

Ben thinks about it. ‘Since maybe two days after I met her.’

‘Efficient,’ Kent says.

Ben sees his chance as Karen is left alone. ‘Wish me luck.’

Kent salutes with his glass. ‘Godspeed.’ He crosses back over to the little cluster of people around Tom James and sits down.

 

Kent swaps his glass of champagne for a tumbler of water. His idea of fun isn’t watching Selina get drunk while Ben tries to challenge Mike, Gary, or anyone else, to drink him under the table.

‘I am so hungry I could eat my fingers.’

He’s swallowing a mouthful of water as he turns to Sue. ‘Not happy drinking your calories?’

She puts her glass aside. ‘Tom James is drinking water, have you noticed?’

‘In the kingdom of the drunk, the sober man is king.’

Sue glances at the rest of the party. ‘They won’t notice if we leave.’

He doesn’t ask if they’re going somewhere. It’s tempting. But, gently drunk as he is, he recognises that this isn’t the time to tease.

They walk out into the corridor. She’s swaying a little on her prim kitten heels. He likes the effect. Sashaying. A word he doesn’t hear much. A word that speaks to him of fifties movie starlets with bright lipstick and curvaceous figures.

In the elevator, Sue frowns at the control panel. ‘Which floor was the restaurant?’

‘Ah. Fourth.’

Restaurant. Food. A meal with Sue. Oh, the possibilities. The wondrous possibilities of being just a little tipsy and eating a meal alone with Sue.

She touches his hand but she’s not looking at him. When the elevator stops, she  _sashays_  forward, then turns and raises a sardonic eyebrow until he hurries to catch up.

 

Over more food than they can possibly eat, Kent is happy to follow her conversational lead.

‘I’m surprised at Amy,’ Sue says.

‘Are you?’ He feels her watching him and glances up. ‘It was a long time coming. The more one is personally invested the deeper disappointment cuts.’

‘Why are you so sympathetic to crazy people?’

He’s trying to be... well not  _nice_ , but at least agreeable. Yet the question rankles.

‘Why aren’t you more sympathetic to them?’

‘Because they’re crazy,’ she says crisply.

‘Precisely.’

‘Hmm.’ She stares at him as if memorising each feature for a police artist.

It makes him inordinately uncomfortable.

‘I hope I can count on your support as campaign manager,’ he says gruffly.

‘Ha!’ It’s Sue’s version of raucous laughter and loud enough for a few people to turn around. ‘I wish I could have seen your face.’

Kent shakes his head, exaggerating his disinclination to a comic mournfulness. ‘Why she couldn’t have said Bill Ericsson...’

Sue reaches over to wipe a smear of butter from his lip. He swallows sharply. She sucks the butter from her thumb. ‘If Bill had been stood there she might have. If Selina hadn’t taken against Karen then her campaign manager might now be a woman unwilling to publicly decide if she prefers cake or death.’

Kent can still feel the phantom warmth of her thumb. He’s having some difficulty moving past her touch.

‘Izzard?’ he ventures.

‘Just so.’ She smiles.

For Sue, a smile is a little twitch of her lips. She demands close attention and rewards thoughtful study.

‘Is Amy correct?’ she asks.

‘About?’

‘No more women presidents.’

He pretends to think about it. An excuse to spend even a few seconds longer with her. ‘There’s precedent. Since Margaret Thatcher stepped down there hasn’t been another female leader of the major English parties, let alone a prime minister. When she died, her detractors purchased enough copies of "Ding, dong! The witch is dead," to make it number two in the British charts.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s illogical. An unpopular terrible male leader has never made men unelectable.’

Sue pulls a face. ‘Well then at least Selina would have achieved something. Something terrible, but something.’

‘It’s entirely unfair to make that judgement on so short a presidency.’

Sue raises her eyebrows. ‘I did not expect to hear you defend her.’

‘I’m being realistic.’ He chases a stray prawn around his plate with his fork. ‘I do think that she does have some genuinely altruistic intentions. Alas altruism is rarely a vote winner.’

Sue starts to say something and then stops, narrowing her eyes. ‘Senator James just entered the restaurant. He appears to be looking for someone.’

Kent turns, just as James looks in their direction. James raises his hand and walks towards them.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Sue says.

‘You don’t like him?’

A tiny snort escapes her. Unnoticeable unless, like Kent, you were watching for it. ‘I don’t trust him.’

The senator arrives at their table, all smiles, and bonhomie. ‘Just the folks I was looking for. I didn’t notice you sneak out.’

‘That’s the point of sneaking out, sir,’ Sue says.

James doesn’t know her reputation or he wouldn’t be so taken aback by the mildly acerbic tone. Kent has no doubt he’ll hear much worse before the election, even if it isn’t aimed directly at him.

‘Right,’ James says, his smile a little more forced. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt a hot date.’ He turns slightly to Kent. ‘Was hoping to arrange a chat with you about the campaign. Specifically where you see my role.’

Kent takes a sip of his wine, giving himself a few seconds to breathe. ‘Perhaps we can schedule a meeting tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Great,’ James says, offering his hand. ‘Looking forward to working with you.’

Kent is fairly good at shaking hands now, better if he’s had warning. Best of all when he’s a little tipsy, as he is right now. Sue, however, picks up her glass as James offers her his hand and stares him down.

‘Tomorrow then,’ James says, pulling back his hand and giving them a polite nod.

They watch him stroll away.

‘That was… peculiar,’ Kent suggests. ‘He mentioned it before but made no effort to arrange a specific time.’

‘Senator James did not come here to arrange a meeting,’ she says, draining her glass and pouring another. ‘He came here because he wondered where we had gone.’

Kent nods. ‘Inquisitive.’

‘Deceitful and intrusive,’ Sue counters. She tilts her head. ‘You didn’t correct him.’

‘About this being a date?’

‘Yes.’

‘Neither did you,’ Kent says.

Sue sips her wine. ‘I have a boyfriend.’

Kent watches a droplet of wine glistening on her lower lip. ‘The answer to a question I didn’t ask.’

She pushes away her empty plate. ‘Don’t be disingenuous.’

‘I’ve drunk too much to attempt anything with so many syllables.’

He shivers as he feels her foot brush against his calf. She hasn’t touched him since Selina’s State of the Union address, and that had been a slap.

‘I’m not Nadia,’ she says.

‘What?’ Kent shakes his head. He isn’t nearly drunk enough to be so confused by three small words. ‘I know who you are.’   

‘I won’t be picked up and put down at your whim.’ Sue finishes her glass, gathers her things together, and stands up. ‘I throw scraps. I don’t settle for them.’ She tilts her head as she looks at him. ‘And you have no idea what I’m talking about.’

‘Scraps?’

He closes his eyes as she bends down and kisses his cheek. He feels the softness and warmth of her lips against his skin. His hands twitch. Wanting to reach for her. Wanting to slide around her waist.

‘Goodnight,’ she says.

Does he hear some wistfulness in her tone? A hint of indecision.

He touches the back of her hand. It almost surprises him as much as it surprises her.

‘It doesn’t have to be goodnight,’ he says.

Sue brushes her fingers through his hair. She’s never done that before. It’s a gesture he finds peculiarly intimate.

‘Goodnight, Kent,’ she says.

 

We have already established that Kent is not a man given to existential contemplation. If he was, he might consider that the distraction of his expanded duties was a distinct benefit. Sue has become quite cordial towards him. Enough, certainly, to give him just enough hope to sting. So he does what he always does with pain; he puts it neatly in a small box and tucks it away.

‘You’re pretty good at this shit,’ Selina says as he details the events that he has planned for her upcoming tour.

Kent blinks at the unexpected, and perhaps uncharacteristic, compliment. ‘Uh…’

She slips off her shoes and lifts her legs to sprawl along the couch, exhausted after the convention. ‘Hey, I got invited to a hunting party. Deer? I thought we could maybe reach out beyond my traditional supporters you know.’

‘‘Perhaps we can change the campaign slogan to “I killed Bambi’s mom.” I can see the memes now,’ Kent mutters under his breath.

‘What’s that?’

Kent rubs his forehead. ‘Perhaps we should avoid antagonising your traditional support in an attempt to appeal to your traditional detractors. It might be better to double down on your strengths.’

Selina blows out her cheeks. ‘I was looking forward to shooting something and pretending it was Danny fucking Chung. So, anything you wanna ask me?’ She scrunches her toes. ‘Dan wanted to know my worst secret.’

Kent stares at her. ‘Why would you do that?

‘Like a trust thing. I told him mine and he told me his.’

‘That sounds more like a prelude to blackmail, or seduction,’ Kent says.

‘Christ, I hope not.’ Selina meets his eye. ‘Amy’s already annoyed at me.’

It makes Kent smile slightly. ‘I have never understood that peculiar blend of animosity and attraction.’

‘You never hate fucked?’ She glances across at him. ‘I guess hate doesn’t compute for you, huh?’

It’s a weak strike and almost automatic. Nothing like the barbs that she used to aim at him. Kent’s very aware of her prevailing wind, he has to be, and he’s sure he’s still leeward.

‘Hatred has never seemed to offer sufficient repayment on the investment,’ he says.

Selina sniggers. ‘I gave Andrew twelve years of my life. Hate sex is the least fucking return I’m owed.’

Kent wonders if Catherine isn’t considered adequate return but swallows the observation, as he has to swallow so many now he works for Selina.

‘I find dislike and desirability to be mutually exclusive,’ he says, rubbing his thumb across his lips.

‘Jesus, you have to  _like_  everyone you sleep with?’

Kent nods. ‘At least somewhat.’

‘You obviously meet more people you like than I do. God knows how that works.’ Selina shakes her head. ‘Do you think we have to worry about blackmail from Dan?’

‘Ben shut him down when he attempted to use the data breach as leverage against firing.’ Kent stretches, feeling his muscles shift in his back. ‘Now he’s working as a lobbyist he needs to play nice.’

 ‘Dan went off the deep end,’ she says. ‘Amy went fucking nuts. I don’t want you going the same way.’

‘I’m barely paddling in the shallows, Ma’am.’ Kent glances up from his tablet. ‘Dan radically underestimated the pressure of a presidential campaign. Amy… had other issues.’

Selina yawns. ‘But you don’t underestimate it.’

‘This is my fourth presidential campaign,’ Kent says.

She waves a hand languidly. ‘Bourbon?’

‘Sure.’ Kent gets up and walks over to the bar.

Selina rolls onto her back and regards the ceiling. ‘You’ve never been campaign manager before.’

‘Not a presidential campaign.’ He glances over and finds her watching him. ‘It was a great many years ago.’

‘Didya win?’

It is, of course, the only question that truly matters. Selina’s far too solipsistic to acknowledge that other people exist when she’s not around, let alone show interest in their lives.

‘We did,’ Kent says. He hands her a glass of bourbon. ‘We improved sixteen percent on her previous term. I take some small pride in that.’

‘Huh. That’s pretty good.’ She takes a sip. ‘How long ago was this?’

‘Thirty-five years.’

Selina squints at him. ‘Thirty… how the fuck old were you?’

Kent sits back down. ‘Twenty-three.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ!’

His hand carves the air. ‘It was no reflection of my abilities I assure you. The senator never hired anyone over the age of thirty.’

She shakes her head. ‘When I started in politics everyone was an adult. Now everywhere all I see are goddamn  _children_.’

‘I don’t remember being that young.’ Kent shakes his head. ‘Even when I  _was_  that young.’

‘I know we dressed better than they do.’ Selina rolled her eyes. ‘Christ, have you seen the stuff that Catherine wears? And don’t even start me on that thing where boys have their pants around their goddamn knees.’

Kent rubs his forehead with his thumb. ‘Isn’t criticising the youth of today the first sign of impending old age?’

Selina half-heartedly scowls at him. ‘You better not be calling me old.’

‘Assuredly not.’

She lowers her voice. ‘Some days I feel it.’

‘A sensation with which I’m sadly familiar.’

Selina looks across at him. ‘Are we old?’

Kent shakes his head before the answer has even finished assembling itself in his mind. ‘No.’

‘Just no?’ Selina sips her bourbon. ‘That’s not a convincing pep talk.’

Kent rolls up his sleeves. She’s noticed that, for all he’s well turned out, he’s often careless with his clothes.

‘My paternal grandfather died of a heart attack when he was forty-six,’ Kent says. ‘My maternal grandfather died of cancer when he was… sixty-three.’ He shrugs. ‘Back then they were old. Not now. Back then thirty-five was middle-aged.’

‘Jesus, now middle-aged is fifty,’ Selina snorts.

‘My mother is eighty-eight. That’s… what, nearly forty years older than you.’ He takes a gulp of his bourbon. ‘Women live longer than men do, mature earlier, and yet peak sexually later.’ He finishes his drink. ‘This is your prime, professionally and personally.’

‘My mom is seventy-three,’ Selina says. ‘She’s a fucking  _wreck_. Size of a goddamn truck, uses an oxygen tank to breathe which is a problem because she smokes like it’s going out of fashion. Which it is.’ She looks across at Kent. ‘Way she talks she’s been dying for the past twenty years.’ She knocks her feet together in an unconsciously childlike gesture. She fantasises about her mother’s death and every fantasy ends with a shiver of terror.

Kent pushes his fingers into his hair and scratches his scalp. It’s a peculiarly satisfying sensation, but one that sparks a memory of Sue dragging her nails along his back.

‘Ironically,’ he says, ‘my mother says she has been happier these last twenty years or so than at any other time,’ he says. He doesn’t feel the need to add that this is how long she has been receiving appropriate medical care.

‘Yeah?’ Selina ask. ‘Fucking good for Mama Davison. That’s the way to do it.’

Kent checks his cell. ‘Huh.’

‘Oh Christ. If the world is ending don’t tell me.’

‘Merely Tom wishing to postpone our meeting tomorrow by thirty minutes.’

‘Oh.’ Selina stands up and pads over to the bar. She splashes bourbon into her glass and then half turns. ‘Gimme your glass.’ She adjusts her bra straps. ‘Hey, why’re you having meetings with Tom?’

‘Campaign strategy.’ Kent stands next to her as she pours the drinks.

Selina gives him a jaundiced look. ‘Here’s the thing, when  _I_  was the running mate, alongside Hughes, his campaign manager didn’t go over campaign strategy with me. I got the senior strategist. Which was you. Why was that?’

‘You’re complaining that I’m having meetings with Tom because you had meetings with… me?’

She shoves his glass at him. ‘I should’ve been talking to the campaign manager. I got fucking relegated!’

His sigh is loud enough to surprise them both. ‘Ma’am, the issue is not the person but the position. President Hughes respected you just as much as you respected Vice President Doyle.’

Selina’s face drops. ‘Christ, as little as that?’

 

‘Your office is far too cluttered,’ Sue announces as she sits down opposite him.

A muscle twitches in Kent’s cheek. His tendency towards clutter and apparent physical disorganisation had been a recurring conversational thread during their courtship.

‘It suits me,’ he says, sitting back in his chair. He expects her to make a biting comment or give him one of her withering looks.

Instead, her lips twitch in a hint of a smile. ‘You have an actual boat, Kent. You don’t need to play make-believe at work.’

‘It feels homely,’ Kent admits.

Sue raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s what your home is for.’

Kent shrugs. ‘Home feels quiet and rather… empty.’

She stares at him for a long moment. He notices her hand tighten around the pen that she’s holding. ‘You should socialise more.’

‘You know I have little time and less inclination.’

‘Kent, being single is bad for your health,’ Sue says severely. ‘You’re thirty-two percent more likely to die young than if you were married. Additionally, socially isolated men have an eighty-two percent higher chance of dying from heart disease.’

‘You know what quoting statistics does to me,’ he murmurs. 

Sue immediately looks away. He knows from the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders that she’s a little off-balance but not displeased. ‘Is this an appropriate conversation to be having at work, Mr Davison?’

He holds up his hands. ‘You’re right. Apologies. Would you enjoy discussing this somewhere else?’

‘You are attempting to distract me by pretending to flirt with me,’ she says, pointing at him with her pen. ‘Date, Kent. Reproduce if possible. You owe it to yourself and to society.’

He touches her hand and she looks at him.

‘You’re aware that my taste in companionship is precise and specific,’ he says. ‘More to the point, I sincerely doubt that I am meat for general consumption. I suspect that I may be something of an acquired taste.’

Sue frowns but not unkindly. ‘Would you care to wait while I fetch my violin?’

‘No, I don’t believe that will be necessary.’

She shakes her head. ‘No excuses. Find yourself a strong, intelligent, woman and throw yourself at her feet. You’ve always enjoyed that.’

 

Although campaigning is engaging and challenging intellectually, Kent isn’t convinced that anyone truly  _enjoys_  the rigmarole. Travelling is tiring. Being trapped on the bus for hours with the others is psychologically exhausting. They’re already scratching at each other’s nerves. The only possible benefit is Ben’s absence and Kent doesn’t find that a sufficient offset. If asked, he might admit that he is also missing Sue. Operating as Selina’s campaign manager has not so much given him an excuse to talk to her as insisted on their close coordination.

They’re getting on well. They are enjoying a sort of relaxed intimacy. They enjoy each other’s company. They know each other, have heard each other’s secrets, and been not merely naked but vulnerable together. Another man might be frustrated at her being so close emotionally and yet apparently unavailable. Kent, however, is quite rational. He is harbouring no expectations and is enjoying the pleasures of Sue’s prickly but loyal friendship. Not dating has given them both the opportunity to be a little more open. A little less guarded.

They talk to each other each evening after Kent has crashed into his hotel room.

‘Did you manage to catch up with the girls when you stopped over in Massachusetts?’ she asks. Her voice is echoing slightly and he thinks he hears the slight splashing of water. 

‘Are you in the bath?’

‘Are you in bed?’

‘Touché, Ms Wilson,’ Kent says, rolling over to turn off the main room light. ‘I managed to grab lunch with Kitty and Molly while Selina was having her hair done.’

She tuts. Teasing. ‘Not much for more than thirty years of friendship.’

‘We’re all busy people. We meet when we can. At least I’m not in the habit of referring to my college friends as being stupid.’

‘Some of my friends  _are_  stupid,’ she says. ‘Some of your friends are intellectually arrogant blowhards.’

Kent snorts. ‘That judgement would carry more weight if you weren’t simply irritated that you couldn’t follow the conversation.’

‘And  _that_  would be more compelling if the conversation hadn’t been a mish-mash of half-understood, ill-conceived philosophical conjectures, filtered through bias, and barely remembered precepts.’

And so on. They have conversations with one, or both, of them in the bath, in bed, lounging around in their underwear, but not otherwise in the bathroom. Neither of them would ever do that. There are limits.

 

She texts him, when the White House goes in lockdown. A complaint about Gary’s whining presence and its detrimental effect on her work. She doesn’t express any concern for his or her safety, merely irritation at the situation. She knows, that Kent knows, that simply sending the text is message enough.

It’s always the same when this sort of thing happens. As Kent escapes from the Oval Office, he hears near-hysterical laughter and uncontrollable tears. Others are pretending that everything is normal, as they stammer and babble. Kent’s nerves are jangled, as if someone has plucked each one like a harp string. He can barely stand to be in the White House, let alone the confines of his tiny office.

He hears his office door slam shut. He turns, registers Sue marching towards him, and then her lips are pressing against his. Her hands are in his hair. His hands find her waist. Her body is shaking. His breath is crushing his lungs. He’s missed this. Missed the smell and taste of her. Missed everything else.

Sue relaxes. Rests her forehead against his. Sighs.

‘Adrenalin,’ she says. She puts her hands over his but doesn’t move them.

‘Ah.’ He can feel his heart racing.

She gives him a small, chaste peck on the lips. ‘That was a mistake.’

 ‘Oh.’

‘Sorry,’ she says, surprising him.

‘I’m not.’

 

Josephina is making dinner when he arrives at her sprawling farmhouse. She cuts quite an eccentric figure as she swoops about with her long cardigan flapping behind her like a cape. Kent doesn’t really notice. When he looks at her, he sees the girl who lay on the roof smoking a joint and claiming that all men were spiritually Vikings. Kent never argued this point, finding it too amusing to mar with debate. Besides, he was always comfortably secure that she didn’t include him.

‘No, no, no, you can’t claim that she’s pushed the position of women simply because she lucked into the presidency,’ Josephina says. ‘Slice those carrots.’

‘The fact that you believe becoming vice president and operating successfully as such in some way counts as “lucking in” to the presidency is a damning indictment of your own bias.’ Kent concentrates on the knife, watching the blade rising and falling. ‘She deserves your endorsement.’

‘She’s done nothing to promote the agenda of women!’ Josephina waves a ladle at him. ‘She has no women in senior positions, Kent. She had one senior advisor…’

‘Karen was entirely lacking in use.’ He catches the dishcloth that she throws at him. ‘I apologise for interrupting.’

‘So you should. Kent, she replaced her female campaign manager with a man,’ Josephina says. ‘How does that look? Her only female staff members are interns and secretaries. One of whom, according to rumour, was thrown under the bus in this data breach thing. Plus she has no people of colour in positions of authority.’

Kent shakes his head. ‘Sue would argue those points. She would argue that her position is vital to the administration.’

Josephina smirks a little as she looks at him. ‘How is the redoubtable Miss Wilson?’

‘She’s fine.’

Josephina pushes herself up onto a tall stool. ‘You still pitching wood for her?’

Kent sighs. He’s tired of having this conversation with his friends and family. ‘Sue remains the most stimulating woman I’ve ever met, intellectually, emotionally, and sexually. I don’t anticipate that changing in the foreseeable future.’ He scowls at her. ‘Is that what you want to hear?’

‘Nope. I wanna hear that you’re either with her or you’ve moved on. You’re not twenty-five anymore. You don’t have time to mope around. Are you and Sue still talking?’

‘I’m fortunate to call her my friend,’ Kent says.

‘Well that’s just great,’ she says, ‘another friend. Just what you need.’

 

Sue hands him antibacterial wipes each time he leaves Selina’s bedroom. Watches as he wipes his hands fastidiously from fingertips to wrists.

‘Ooh can I have one of those?’ Richard asks, reaching for the box of wipes. ‘I have a weak constitution. My mom always –’

‘No,’ Sue says, her voice a whip crack. ‘You may not.’

‘Oh, okay, that’s… obviously. That would be inappropriate.’

‘Leave,’ Sue says to him.

Kent shakes his head as he watches Richard creep away. ‘Amazing.’

‘You missed a spot.’ She holds out her hand for the wipe.

Kent hesitates a moment, looking mildly sheepish, before handing it to her. There’s a tiny hint of a smile in her eyes as she takes hold of his hand. Her touch is warm and her pressure even as the wipe circles the back of his hand. She keeps eye contact with him even when she throws the wipe into the wastebasket. After a moment, Kent retrieves his hand, clearing his throat.  

 ‘I trust that you’re using these yourself,’ Kent says. ‘As vital as your presence is to this administration it is especially crucial at this conjuncture.’

Sue preens at the acknowledgment. He’s never noticed her do that before, she usually takes compliments as her natural right.

‘I am taking all logical precautions,’ she promises. She flicks her eyes around the corridor presently doing duty as a reception area. ‘In all current respects. You should do the same.’

 

It’s a concern. Kent had done as much as possible to keep his fingerprints off the data breach and the sabotage of the Meyer Bill but assignment of blame is rarely logical or fair. Naturally, he has taken certain precautions in the event of his falling from Selina’s grace, or being either scapegoated or snowballed. But he would rather avoid such eventualities. It is, in his experience, quite difficult to gracefully threaten blackmail or mutually assured destruction.

The atmosphere in the West Wing is terrible. Oh, Kent’s known congressional investigations plenty of times before, but this is something else. Everyone is implicated and so everyone is snapping and snarling at each other like chained dogs. They’re biting chunks out of each other for weeks before the date.

 

Kent watches Sue perusing the dessert menu. Now that they’re friends, they go out to lunch a couple of times a week. They have a small pool of unusual little restaurants and bistros where they dawdle over interesting food and rare wines. They’re usually quiet places with light music playing and inconspicuous waiters. Sue rarely has more than one glass of wine although that’s often enough for her to become a little more… demonstrative. On the days that they have lunch, he spends the morning looking forward to the touch of her hand on his or her foot brushing against his leg.  

‘Gary has been babbling about getting a lawyer,’ Sue says.

‘Gary probably should,’ Kent says. ‘I cannot conceive what Ben was thinking in embroiling him.’

Sue sips her wine. ‘That Ben has terrible judgment of people is no surprise,’ she says. ‘His unrelenting antagonism towards you is proof of that.’

‘Good point.’

She crosses her legs at the knee. ‘I’m wondering if I should consider legal advice.’

Kent takes a sip of his wine. ‘I can give you the name of my lawyer. I’m sure she’ll tell you that you have nothing to worry about.’ He’s surprised to see her relax fractionally.

‘So you’ve taken legal advice,’ she says. ‘I wondered.’

‘Sure, my sister-in-law,’ he says. He wipes his moustache with his napkin. ‘I think I mentioned her to you. I’m told that she’s very good.’

She touches her fingertips to the back of his hand. It’s a delicate touch that sends a shiver along his spine.

‘I’m relieved to know that you are considering all your options.’

‘Are you worrying about me, Miss Wilson?’ His voice is deeper than normal. She’s still touching his hand. Her fingers drifting slowly in a circle.

‘Merely concerned for the efficiency of the West Wing should you be fired.’

It’s tempting to turn his hand over and play with her fingers. They’ve been dancing along the line of friendship and flirtation for weeks. It’s a delicate balance and he’s wary of going too far. If he were a romantic then he would be willing to do anything to win her back. However, Kent is a pragmatist and finds that he’s unwilling to risk their friendship.

‘Should things go against me then being fired would be the least of my concerns,’ Kent says.

Sue’s jaw sets. ‘Prison?’

‘In theory it’s a possibility.’ He waves his free hand. ‘I have done this before. Please try not to worry.’

‘Will the lawyer be with you at the hearing?’

Kent shakes his head. ‘Not unless I’m called back. It risks giving the impression of guilt. But we’ve discussed my options and will again nearer the time.’

Sue orders a particularly rich Italian dessert. ‘I do not believe that you would flourish in prison.’

‘Believe me; I have no intention of martyring myself for the Meyer administration.’

‘Good.’ Sue frowns and checks her cell. She sighs heavily and declines the call.

‘Problem?’

‘Simon. I keep reminding myself that he’s now merely a placeholder.’

Kent raised his eyebrows. ‘A placeholder boyfriend?’

‘Precisely.’

‘What does that mean?’ he asks. He has a distinctly unpleasant suspicion.

Sue looks at him. ‘It means that I would dump him but I don’t yet have a replacement. When I’ve found someone new then I will leave him.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘Don’t look at me like that. It’s a practical measure. I’m sure you’ve done the same.’

‘I’ve never done that.’ Kent taps his spoon against the edge of his plate. ‘I’d rather be alone than be in an unhappy relationship.’

Sue steals a piece of his cherry pie. ‘I would rather be unhappy with someone else than be unhappy alone.’

‘That presupposes that you are unhappy alone,’ Kent says. ‘I’m not.’

‘Of course you’re unhappy,’ she says. ‘You’re alone.’

Kent sits back. ‘I have a fulfilling job, a hobby that gives me considerable pleasure, friends that I care for, and family I love. I would  _like_  a romantic and sexual partner. I’m sure that a healthy relationship with the right person would increase my happiness. But it wouldn’t make me happy if I was otherwise miserable.’

‘You’re being disingenuous,’ Sue says. ‘Human beings are social creatures.’

‘Sure, I’m not debating that. I’m saying that relationships are not ice floes in a frozen sea. It’s not necessary to cling on to an unhappy relationship because letting go means drowning.’

Sue orders a second glass of wine. ‘Kent, your longest sexual relationship is with Nadia. A woman who’s been in love with you since you were in college and who is always willing to drop everything to accommodate whatever scrap of time and affection you have for her.’

To say that Kent is shocked and offended would be to understate to the point of distortion.

He’s appalled.

Kent is neither a cruel nor a sadistic man. He’s merely one perhaps a little too easily persuaded to believe that which makes his life easier and less complicated. He’s hardly alone in this.

‘That’s simply not true,’ he says. ‘Nadia… Nadia’s a friend… Sure we’ve… I would never…’

‘Ask Josephina,’ Sue says.

‘What?’

She tilts her head and sighs. ‘Ask Josephina, or Kitty, or Molly, or Angelique. Actually, ask your mother. I’m damn sure that she knows how Nadia feels about you.’

Kent shakes his head as he fidgets with his cutlery. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Nadia was the one who said it was casual,’ he says. ‘That was her choice.’’

‘Kent, Nadia knows you. If she’d told you how she felt then you would have let her down gently,’ Sue says. She puts her hand over his. Sighs. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘She has relationships,’ he says, looking at her. ‘I’ve met some of her boyfriends.’

‘Of course she does, she’s a realist. Don’t be an egomaniac. Nobody is sitting around waiting for you to ride into town on a white horse.’

Kent taped Sue’s cell. ‘Case in point.’

Sue’s spoon scrapes against the side of the bowl. ‘I’m not dumping Simon until I’m ready.’

‘I’m merely saying that, as a concept, being alone is not necessarily a bad thing,’ Kent says.

‘You say that because you’re single too often.’

‘You say that because you’re single too rarely,’ Kent says. He licks his lips. ‘Was I a placeholder for you?’

Sue’s grip on her spoon tightens. ‘If you recall, it was you who ended our relationship.’

‘No… I  _asked_  if you thought we should end things.’

Sue rolls her eyes. ‘That’s the same thing.’

Kent rubs his forehead. ‘You’re avoiding the question. Was I a placeholder?’

She looks down at her bowl. ‘No, I had the clearly idiotic idea that we could work through our difficulties. I thought it was worth the effort.’

‘Oh,’ he says quietly. ‘When I asked if we should part ways you made a big song and dance about how relieved you were.’

She looks at him. ‘Of course I did. Would you expect me to tell you that I was devastated?’

Kent opens his mouth but finds he doesn’t have the words.

‘Do you ever regret it?’ Sue asks.

Kent takes a gulp of her wine. ‘Breaking up?’

She nods.

‘Honestly,’ Kent says, ‘I regret it all the time. Not because I’m single. Because I love you. Loved you, I mean.’

Sue is quiet for a long moment. ‘You loved me.’

Kent plays with the edge of the tablecloth. ‘You know that,’ he says gently. 

‘I know that there are times when any man will say that,’ she says, smiling slightly. ‘Even you.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Do you think that it ever works, getting back together?’

‘Sometimes, sure. Sometimes a breakup is a wake-up call to deal with issues in the relationship,’ he says. ‘I think sometimes people go into relationships with unrealistic expectations. But you can only ever say a minority of relationships work out. Statistically all successful relationships run against the odds.’

‘That’s not very encouraging, Kent,’ Sue says.

‘I can be encouraging or I can be honest.’ He leans forward. ‘Nobody listens to the odds, Sue. The pursuit of a relationship is the choice of hope over experience. When it works it makes all the failures worthwhile.’

‘I would draw the line at two attempts,’ she says. He knows from the tilt of her head that’s she’s uncomfortable. ‘Those people who continually make up and break up are either idiots or purely interested in the drama.’

‘Have I distressed you?’

‘No.’ Sue braces her shoulders. ‘This is simply a level of honesty I’m not used to from you.’

‘You’re my friend,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s my job to be honest.’

‘Wasn’t it your job when you were my lover?’

‘No. Then it was my job to support and comfort you.’ He shrugs. ‘Now you have Simon for that.’

Sue purses her lips. ‘Can you do both?’ she asks quietly.

‘Tall order,’ Kent says. ‘Can you?’

Sue sips her wine as she thinks about it. ‘I am almost always honest. Whether it is required or not.’

‘I have no doubt.’

Sue rubs a smear of cherry from his lip and smiles when he inclines to her touch.

‘You never needed supporting or comforting,’ she says, sucking the cherry off her thumb.

‘Sure I did,’ Kent says quietly. ‘Maybe I didn’t want to show it and maybe you didn’t want to see it.’

Sue purses her lips. ‘What’s that phrase that Selina uses, mistakes may have been made?’

‘Ah, yes. The one that says nobody is actually is responsible.’

Sue slides her hand into his. ‘You loved me.’

He shrugs.

‘You still love me,’ she says quietly.

Kent rubs his thumb across her knuckles. ‘Sue, I’m not… asking you for anything but your friendship. I have no unrealistic expectations.’

‘And do you have realistic expectations?’

Kent licks his lips. ‘I have no expectations. I have only the faintest of hopes.’

Sue strokes her thumb across his cheek and then drops her hand. ‘I can’t think about this with the congressional hearing looming.’

‘Understood.’

‘We need to keep clear heads.’

‘Definitely.’

She looks at him. ‘If I had fought, suggested couples counselling or some such, would you have done it?’

‘Yes,’ he says, and winces when her shoulders drop. ‘But perhaps we needed this more. To be friends.’

‘Is that honest or comforting?’ she asks.

‘I hope it’s both.’

Sue meets his gaze. ‘You think we needed to be friends more than lovers, or you think we needed to be friends first?’

Kent takes a deep breath. ‘I think we needed to be friends first.’

Sue closes her eyes for a moment. Then she nods. ‘I concur.’

 

She’s amused by how proud he is of Leigh. Affectionately amused, he thinks, and he takes her teasing in the friendly, playful spirit in which it’s offered. Playfulness isn’t something that comes naturally to either of them but she has a better grasp than he does. After they have given their testimony, they sit in his office and watch the live feed with occasional interruptions from visitors with too much time and too little timing.

‘I doubt today will offer anything as impressive as yesterday,’ Sue says, offering Kent some dried fruit. ‘Gary’s testimony was quite astonishing. I do wonder who put it into Leigh’s mind to suggest him as a possible mastermind.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ he asks innocently.

‘I don’t know her. You do. You have a high opinion of her intelligence. I have a high opinion of your judgment.’ Sue taps her foot and her shoe slides down, dangling from her toes. ‘Yet she identified Gary and Bill as the people that the committee should focus on.’

Kent glances out of the door but Sue’s assistant has gone to make coffee.

‘If a young and inexperienced person, such as Leigh, were to seek advice from a more experienced person, such as I myself, I might, theoretically offer certain thoughts on strategy.’

Sue clasps her hands together and rests her chin on them. ‘Hmm, and would this more experienced person suggest that she name one believable party and one unbelievable party?’

‘The believable party alone would be too obvious,’ Kent says. ‘Yet two believable parties would risk splitting the focus.’

He has the merest twinge of anxiety that she will disapprove. Sue is a pragmatist but she’s not a political operator and he doesn’t expect her to think like one.

Sue gives him a long slow look from the top of his head to the soles of his shoes. ‘Leigh lines up the targets, decoy and real, and Mike fires the gun.’

‘Not just Mike.’

‘But not you,’ Sue says, tilting her head.

‘Or Ben,’ Kent says. He gestures to her. ‘Or you.’

That earns him a slight smirk. ‘And whose choice was it not to line me up in Bill’s firing squad?’

Kent drums his fingers on the desk. ‘I thought you would prefer to avoid it.’

‘Hmm.’ Sue turns her attention back to the television. ‘I hope you realise I would be less sanguine if Gary or Amy had been the designated scapegoat.’

‘Naturally. Neither was ever mentioned as an option.’

‘And Bill did attempt to throw you to the lions in his stead.’

‘With me sat right there,’ Kent says.

Sue turns her attention back to the television screen. ‘This is impressive. Mike has elevated strategic incompetence to the point where it can actually exclude him from suspicion of deliberate wrongdoing.’

She gestures at her returning assistant to bring in the coffee.

‘If I was Wendy, I would worry how attached he is to his phone,’ Kent says.

Sue raises an eyebrow and smirks at him. ‘Says the man who would probably marry his boat if he could.’

‘Of course not, if we got divorced I’d have to give my boat half my belongings. That’s simply impractical.’

He smiles at Sue’s little giggle.

‘You would have to give your boat half your boat,’ Sue’s assistant murmurs. ‘A recursive nightmare.’

‘Thank you for correctly using the term “recursive” and not “inception.” As much as I adored the movie it has led to a distressing lexicographical confusion,’ Kent says.

‘I adored Eames,’ Sue says lightly.

The assistant’s eyes widen as she looks over at Kent.

‘You always did enjoy an accent,’ he remarks.

‘It’s apparently an evolutionary mechanism to encourage wider distribution of genetic material,’ Sue says.  

‘Huh.’

‘Accent, muscles, facial hair,’ the assistant says. ‘Gotta love.’

Kent shrugs. ‘I suppose one out of three is a beginning.’

‘Two out of three,’ Sue says. ‘The fact that something is buried deep doesn’t detract from it being present. It may be more impressive for being less obvious.’

Kent looks at her. ‘Are we talking about core muscles?’

‘Among other things.’

 

‘Why does Amy look like she’s about to go raise a barn?’ Sue asks.

‘It’s an intriguing sartorial choice,’ Kent says.

‘And why aren’t they asking her questions about the campaign? They would be far more relevant than the questions they asked you.’

‘True, but I suspect that Congresswoman Brewer never had an argument with Amy over whether or not her boyfriend had been home all night.’

Sue looks across at him. ‘What?’

‘In my youth I shared a house with her former husband, Charles.’ Kent pops a piece of dried pear into his mouth. He’s silent for a moment before he swallows. ‘Alas fidelity was not among his many and varied virtues.’ 

Sue steals the bag from him. ‘And you covered for him.’

‘Not at all,’ he says. ‘I was telling her the truth, but Charles had given her every reason to be paranoid.’

‘Yet she married him.’

Kent smiles slightly. ‘Love, Miss Wilson, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’

 

Sue slides her arm through Kent’s as they stroll from the White House.

‘Is that a little smirk?’ Sue asks.

‘Certainly not.’

She gives his arm a little squeeze. ‘Not even a small one?’

‘Perhaps a small smile. Which is an entirely different concept.’

Sue cricks her neck. ‘What did you have to do to get tonight free?’

‘I promised Ben that I would cover him tomorrow during the talks.’ Kent narrows his eyes as ahead of them Jonah stumbles across on the way to the Eisenhower building. ‘This close to the election, R&R is as important as it is rare.’

‘I certainly need something to keep me from terminal boredom,’ Sue says dryly.

Kent squints at her. ‘We have only recently squeaked clear of a congressional investigation and are in the run up to closest election in American history.’

‘And Alexander wept for there were no more worlds to conquer,’ Sue says.

Kent laughs softly. ‘Oh, I adore you.’

Sue smiles and is about to say something when her cell chimes. With her free hand, she fishes it out, and then sighs. ‘This is growing tiresome.’

‘Simon?’

‘I was extremely clear with him.’

‘Eventually,’ Kent says.

Sue glares at him playfully. ‘Shut up.’

‘Roger.’

Sue brushes up against him as they walk. ‘I thought after the movie you might like to come to supper.’

Kent opens the car door for her. ‘You’re going to cook?’

‘I’m going to assemble a collation of interesting cured meats, spiced olives and sunblush tomatoes, and a mix of Italian and French cheeses,’ Sue says, sitting down.

‘Hmm. I think I would indeed like to come to supper.’ He shuts her door and walks around to his own. When he gets in the car, Sue is straightening her skirt. Kent glances at her thighs, feels faintly ashamed of himself, and starts the car. ‘How are you enjoying sailing solo?’

Sue pouts. ‘It’s mildly annoying. I realise that I agreed to your suggestion of waiting until after the election. It is still annoying. Which is a major improvement on my last period of being single.’ She shakes her head. ‘That was an experience I have no desire to relive.’

Kent glances across. ‘So, the time when we had broken up you were particularly… dispirited, and you ascribe that purely to being between partners?’

Sue gives him a look. ‘I am not about to answer that when the only emotion you will admit to at our breakup is regret.’

Kent glances in the mirror. ‘When have you ever asked me?’

‘I told you I was devastated,’ Sue says crisply. ‘You did not reciprocate.’

‘Apologies,’ he says, touching her knee. ‘I erroneously imagined that it was obvious, particularly to you.’  

‘Were you?’ she asks.

He nods.

 

The hotel suite smells of stale sweat and the peculiar faint aroma of panic. There’s a pile of takeout wrappers in the corner of the room. A mass of papers and other rubbish is smeared across the floor. Kent had a shower and changed his shirt a couple of hours ago, but he still feels soiled. He needs to scrub his skin until it glows pink and warm. He finds himself fantasising about it.

When Amy arrives, he’s happier than he would have anticipated, but he’s happier still to see Sue. They hadn’t predicted seeing each other until the following day at the earliest. Triumph would allow no relief: disaster no distraction.

They snatch a few stolen minutes out on the balcony. Sue shivers in the slight breeze.

‘A moment,’ Kent says. He fetches his jacket from the suite and gently places it around her shoulders.

‘Hmm.’ Her lips quirk up and she does a little twirl. ‘Tell me, Mr Davison, how does my ensemble look?’

‘Ravishing.’ He touches her hair. ‘How long are you planning to stay?’

‘I think Amy is going to leave once the election is called.’

‘I didn’t ask what she’s going to do,’ he says mildly.

‘This is proving rather more exciting than I expected.’ Sue settles his jacket more comfortably around her shoulders. ‘Would you like me to leave?’

Kent shakes his head.

‘Then I’ll stay.’

 

If one more person mentions balloons, he thinks he might… be very annoyed. He’s used to a certain amount of chaos, there’s something about Selina that attracts it, but this is unprecedented. They had a plan to celebrate success and another for mourning a failure. Nobody can quite compute the sudden third option.

He turns when he feels someone take his hand.

‘Come on,’ Sue says.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Your hotel room.’

He looks over at everyone else but they’re milling about, uncertain and dispirited. Selina has stomped off and Ben is trying to shake free a drinking buddy. Kent lets Sue pull him away. She adjusts her hand as they walk, entwining her fingers with his.

The hotel is too bright. The world seems to be too loud, too big, just too much for him to deal with. Sue pushes him back against the door to his room, and claims a slow, gentle kiss.

‘Hmm,’ he murmurs when she steals his key and opens the door. ‘I needed that.’

‘You look like you need a hug, a sandwich, and a bath,’ she says. ‘In that order.’

‘Those all sound wonderful.’ He follows her into the room and kicks the door shut. ‘Alas the bath is tiny, and I have nothing with which to make myself a sandwich.’

Sue slides her arms around his waist and leans against his chest. He wraps one arm about her shoulders and the other across her lower back. He pushes his face into her hair and breathes gently.

‘However,’ he says quietly, ‘the hug is spectacular.’

‘Why do you smell of Chanel No 5?’ she asks curiously.

Kent groans. ‘Karen. She was lurking in the corridor ambushing anyone that went past, to “hug out” any lingering hostile emotions.’

He feels her body shaking as she tries not to laugh.

‘It’s not funny,’ he says as gravely as possible. He loves her soft little gulp as she laughs silently.

She pushes him away and waves a hand. ‘Go have a shower. Scrub the Karen stank from your skin.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Call room service. I refuse to begin dating you again without something hot inside me.’

Kent raises his eyebrows. ‘Phrasing?’

‘I know what I said.’ She points at the bathroom. ‘Go.’

‘Yes Ma’am.’

‘And don’t call me Ma’am unless you’re on your knees.’

He salutes instead, and whistles as he strolls into the bathroom. It’s an affectation. The shock of the election tie is beginning to wear off a little bit. Now he’s beginning to feel small stabs of nervousness. He’s almost giddy with exhaustion and stress.

 

Kent closes his eyes as the water pours down. His hands are shaking too hard for him to keep a hold of the soap. 

It’s been months. Months of waiting and hoping. It can’t possibly stand the build-up and the expectation. He’s going to disappoint her. He’s probably going to make all the same mistakes again. This time they won’t be any coming back from it.

Kent shivers in the sudden draught. He wipes water from his eyes as he turns around. Sue has opened the cubicle door.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ she says, climbing into the cubicle and shutting the door behind her.

‘You look great.’

Sue reaches past him for the soap. ‘Thank you. I can see I’m going to have to feed you up.’

‘Been off my food,’ he says sheepishly.

‘Hmm. No man of mine is going to go around looking half starved.’

‘Is that what I am now?’  He has to lean back against the cool cubicle wall as she presses the sponge against his chest, circling slowly. She smells faintly of vanilla and bergamot. She gives him a slight, ironic smile.

‘Yes,’ Sue says firmly. ‘But do not refer to me as your woman.’

Kent catches her mouth with his. Closes his eyes as they kiss. ‘I’ve never done that,’ he murmurs. 

‘I want to ensure that you don’t start.’ She tenderly bites his lower lip.

‘The only person in this relationship who can be referred to as a possession is me,’ Kent says. ‘Copy that.’

Sue raises an eyebrow. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘No.’

‘Turn around.’ She laughs softly when he rests his hands on her waist. ‘That’s not what I said.’

‘This is more fun.’

‘I’m trying to help you relax.’

Kent pulls her closer. ‘This is not a situation likely to inspire a relaxed state of mind or body.’

Sue licks her lips. ‘Are we making a terrible mistake?’ she asks quietly.

‘I’m not,’ he says, playing with her hair. ‘But you may be.’

‘Kent, shut up and make love to me.’

‘Copy that.’

 

End

 

 


End file.
